Parallel Lines Always Meet
by RaceTheWind10
Summary: HG/Myka for the most part, this is not a single fic, but an anthology of generally unrelated stories. Many will be short, some will be set in the show universe, many will be AUs, so please read the disclaimers. This is primarily a way to archive various fics I've posted elsewhere. Also note: I am well aware parallel lines don't meet. Its a quote.
1. Chapter 1

**Parallel Lines Always Meet…**

**About: **This should be considered an unrelated anthology. All the stories contained herein will be _Warehouse 13_, most will be Bering & Wells centric, though there may be one or two that focus on another character.

**How did this happen? **Essentially, I have started writing a lot of comment fic on tumblr. A LOT OF IT. And because most of that fic is written for a specific screen cap, or gif or work of fanart, most of it is short and unrelated to anything else I've done. Rather than posting the rather ridiculous number of these things as individual fics, I'm going to go ahead and collate them here. Some will be set in the show universe, MANY will not be. I will try to specify when it's an AU.

**Want to see how the madness started? **If you would like to see the originals (and really, I highly suggest this, because there is an INSANE amount of talented artists and graphics wizards in the fandom) you may find them at my tumblr (same user name) tagged/fic (You will also find fics I've come across and recommend).

**A note on the title: **Since this seems to confuse some people. I passed 8th grade geometry. I am well aware parallel lines by definition do not meet. It's a _quote. _From the show _Witchblade_ to be precise. Its also a rather (admittedly) oblique reference to multiple universes colliding. As in, Bering and Wells will always find a way to be together no matter where or when they are.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: What Moments Remain**

**Pairing: **HG/Myka

**Setting: **Show universe, post Season 3 finale.

**Rating: T**

**Summary: **Myka remembers the little moments. Angst.

* * *

The memories still ambush her. Even months later when she finally manages to pick up the pieces of her heart and (mostly) go on functioning; when she's not living in that terrible moment of silent goodbyes and explosions over and over again, every second of every day.

Myka knows she will never forget the feeling of Helena's lips against her own, or the silky texture of the smaller woman's skin beneath her fingertips. Not the sound of Helena's voice unstrung in passion or merely gentled with exhaustion, nor the color of her eyes in the moonlight and the feel of her hair beneath Myka's cheek. Those memories are a part of Myka now, as integral to her life as the blood in her veins, and just as painful when exposed. But at least they are expected. Those memories she can almost control.

_Almost_.

The ones that hurt the most though, that blindside her when she least expects it… those are the little moments: a challenging look in a wrestling coach's office, a knowing grin over a tracking device, a shaky breath taken while finally shelving a long lost artifact. These and so many others slip into her mind in the quiet heartbeats between waking and sleep, or when she opens a door and the sunlight briefly eclipses her sight, or when she walks down an empty hallway to an empty room.

Perhaps they aren't the moments others would remember, but they are the ones engraved forever onto Myka's heart. They were the moments time seemed to stand still and it was just the two of them, alone, in their own reality; drawn together like planets orbiting a sun, subjected to a gravitational force neither seemed to have any desire to fight. What Myka remembers are the moments that force was the strongest, when she could almost see the attraction drawing them closer.

But their sun exploded, loosing their tether and now Myka spins through time and space alone, with no direction and only the tattered strings of her memories to tell her where she has been.

Fin


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: Come to Bed.

**Pairing**: HG/Myka

**Rating**: PG- 13

**Setting: **Immediately after the season 4 premier (SPOILERS)

**Summary**: Just one of a series of "possible" scenarios for what we didn't get to see (AND DAMN WELL SHOULD HAVE) at the end of that episode.

**A/N: **This originated as a comment fic for one of fuckyeahpikacha's manips. Hence the teddy bear.

* * *

Myka wanted, so desperately, to feel the joy that should have been theirs. They had saved the Warehouse. Hell, the_world_for all they knew. Myka had read the manual, she knew (most) of the dangers the Warehouse kept safely out of reach of the world and she could easily guess the havoc the wanton destruction of those objects could unleash.

And then there was the miracle that was Helena. Helena who was was alive and _whole_ and whom Artie seemed to have made a complete about-face in his attitude toward.

It should have been a victory. _The _victory.

But as Myka walked into her room at Leena's B & B, the customary adrenaline high and giddy excitement of saving the day seemed far away and out of reach, as if there was a barrier around her heart she could not break.

A barrier made of grief…and fear.

They had still lost Steve.

Even Sykes, for all the pain he caused…Myka couldn't get the image of the scared, sorry little boy out of her head. There was more though. Some part of Myka Bering, the part that was always analyzing, observing and cataloging knew that they were missing something. A variable was absent from the equation. It had been _too_ easy.

And the last time Myka had missed something, Sam was taken from her.

Now she had found love again. A love that made even what she and Sam had shared pale in comparison. Now they had been granted a second (or maybe third) chance, and there was a part of the agent that was _utterly_ terrified this reprieve was only temporary.

And if that were the case…

In the deepest, darkest part of her heart, Myka Bering did not believe that she would survive losing Helena yet again.

Lost in thought, the tall woman wasn't really aware of picking up the items that had been tossed at the end of her bed…had it only been the day before? Myka could no longer remember. Time seemed to have stretched and twisted all out of its accustomed shape, leaving her unsure of the direction in which she moved.

She cradled the worn teddy bear and an even more worn copy of _The Time Machine__, _some part of her hoping the familiar talismans would quiet the conflicting emotions swirling inside her. The bear and novel had become Myka's touchstones over the last year: small, tangible comforts when the nights felt too empty and the nightmares threatened.

She was still holding them when the soft, deliberate scuff of a shoe against wood floors signaled another's arrival. Myka's heart leaped in her chest and she was just about to turn when slender arms slid around her and a familiar form pressed against her back.

Myka's knees nearly went weak. Every nerve ending _sang_ with Helena's proximity, as if Myka had just taken a hit of some incredibly potent drug.

The fear, the doubt, the last hours, the last _year_ was suddenly nothing but a distant memory.

She moved to replace her bear and book on the bed and return the embrace when something brought her up short.

They were both still wearing their clothing from the day, but Helena also still sported her purple gloves. Myka blinked. Whatever she had been intending to say suddenly fled her mind to make way for curiosity.

"Uh, Helena? Why are you still wearing your gloves?" As she spoke, Myka completed her earlier task, gently laying her treasures aside and turning in Helena's gentle hold to look at the other woman. Still waiting for an answer, the taller agent tried to ignore the racing beat of her heart and just how damned badly she wanted to wrap her arms around Helena and never let go.

Helena's own expression, however, appeared equally puzzled.

Removing her hands from Myka's waist, the smaller woman frowned slightly at the gloves, turning her hands back and forth as it to examine them in greater detail.

"I'm not quite sure to be honest. Pete pulled me aside when we arrived and said something about 'no glove no love.' I did feel as though perhaps he was having a laugh, but he looked so very earnest about it…" Helena trailed off, one eyebrow raised in expectation of further explanation.

Myka pressed her lips together. Hard. Then bit her lower lip. It was too much though. Somewhere between wanting to kill Pete or hug him for the subtle sign of his acceptance of Helena, Myka just shook her head and gently removed the purple gloves, entwining her fingers with Helena's when at last they were free of the last, thin barrier to their skin.

"Let's just say he was having some fun at your expense."

"Ah. I thought as much," Helena said gently. Her smile, however, was fond and Myka found herself echoing it.

"If it helps, I think it means he's decided he likes you."

Helena raised one elegant eyebrow. Her dark eyes were so very warm in the soft light of the room and suddenly Myka didn't want to be talking about Pete. She didn't want to be talking at all.

"Helena," she whispered softly, fingers squeezing gently. There was so much she wanted to say to the other woman; so much that _needed_ to be said. And yet now that the moment was here, Myka's tongue failed her.

Helena too, appeared to be struggling, but the author summoned an inner strength from somewhere and whispered at last, "I missed you, so _very_ much." Her voice was so soft that the words barely reached Myka's ears. Their impact on her heart, however, was that of a hammer blow that fractured the last of her hesitation.

With a choked sound that she refused to call a sob, Myka gave in to her early desire and threw her arms around Helena, clinging to her fiercely. The embrace was returned instantly and Helena's hands slipped under Myka's jacket to clutch at the taller woman's back.

"I missed you too," Myka finally managed, pressing her cheek against Helena's.

No tears were shed, but both were breathing raggedly, holding on to each other as if to a life raft in a storm. Eyes closed, they stood silently together, refusing to let any separation come between them, the unspoken fear that the merest opportunity might allow them to be torn apart lurking like a shadow in both their hearts. Had she been able to summon rationality at all, Myka would have understood the fear to be ridiculous, but she was not rational. There had been too much pain and regret and wondering 'if only' to be rational and Myka was beyond giving a damn.

She could stay here until the world burned down around her for all she cared.

It was Helena who broke first. Taking a slow breath the artificer straightened, hands moving to stroke Myka's arms through the warm leather of her jacket. Her eyes were bright with tears un-spilled but her smile was warm. "Come to bed," Helena said softly, one hand moving to take Myka's and squeeze gently in encouragement.

Myka's own eyes stung and she blinked furiously, nodding and returning the grasp before only reluctantly letting go.

* * *

As they quietly readied themselves for bed, Myka's earlier fear crept from its dark corner in her mind and whispered its cold poison once again in her ear. When she finally slipped into bed and opened her arms to Helena once again, however, the warmth and exquisite pleasure of the smaller woman's body pressed against her own sent it fleeing.

It would return, Myka knew. Just as she knew she had to share those fears with Helena.

But that was for tomorrow. For when the sun was up and bathing their world in the kind of brightness that made all such fears less menacing.

For now was the time for Myka to pull the covers over them and wrap her arms around Helena. It was a time to whisper, "I love you," and brush her lips across Helena's in a tender kiss. Time to gasp softly as that kiss was returned, deeper and fiercer, until they were lost in the liquid warmth of the other's mouth. Time for their bodies to speak the ancient language of need and lust, love and longing in ways mere words could never express. Time to drift off to sleep with Helena's head resting over Myka's heart, at peace at last.

And though Myka knew that no matter _what_ happened - whether they had been granted a day, a year or a lifetime - it would _never_ be enough time with Helena, before she drifted off, the agent vowed once again to not waste a single _second_ of it.

FIN.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Remembrance

**Pairing**: Myka/HG Warehouse 13

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, not making any money

**Setting: **Unspecified future, show universe.

**Summary**: Inspired by a tumblr gif set of lesbians and park benches, I had to make this a bit melancholy. Myka and Helena remember.

* * *

The autumn breeze had a bite to it and Myka instinctively tugged her overcoat tighter around her shoulders. The cemetery was quiet, only the rustle of the wind in the turning leaves above her head punctuated the comforting stillness. If there were spirits that haunted this place, they were not interested in vengeance. Myka didn't need to search the gravestones to know where familiar names lay. Too many of those cold marble markers held carved reminders of friends passed from her life; sometimes peacefully, sometimes not.

The Warehouse had taken much from Myka Bering.

The dark turn of her thoughts, however, was interrupted by the appearance of a grande-sized coffee cup in her field of vision, a tiny wisp of steam curling from the hole in the lid.

Reaching out a gloved hand, the agent took the coffee and turned to smile at the woman handing it to her. The acceptance and the smile were as automatic as breathing for her, because if the Warehouse had demanded much from Myka, it had also given her much in return.

Carefully cradling her own cup of tea, Helena settled on the cold stone bench next to Myka, making sure to press herself close. She wrapped one slender, wool-clad arm around Myka's waist, effectively eliminating any space between their bodies.

Myka wriggled contentedly, turning to press a kiss against her wife's temple, just where the silver hair gave way to black. Myka still dyed her riot of curls but HG had given up several years ago, claiming that every grey hair was a badge of honor, proof that she defied the universe and fate itself by continuing to live. And - irritatingly - it only made her look more regal and distinguished.

With a gentle click, Helena tipped her cup against Myka's.

"For remembrance," they both said softly, looking out over the graveyard.

It was their own private ritual. Once a year around this time, they - sometimes alone, sometimes with Pete and Claudia in attendance - remembered those that had been taken from them.

Some - like Rebecca and Mrs. Frederic - were bittersweet, for both women having chosen to leave this life on their own terms, with no regrets.

Some, like Artie and Christina, were wounds that would never truly heal.

So they remembered. Sometimes silently, sometimes sharing stories, tears and laughter. The form was changing but the purpose constant. Once a year, Helena and Myka counted the cost of their lives. And every year, they looked at each other and silently knew that no matter how bitter the cost, it was worth it.

Overhead the red-gold leaves continued to play their soft music while the two women sat and sipped their warm drinks, saying goodbye and giving thanks for one more year, and a hope of more to come.

fin


	5. Chapter 5

**Title**: Maybe You've Heard Of Them…

**Characters**: Myka Bering, Richard Castle. Castle/Beckett, Myka/HG implied

**Rating**: G

**Setting: ** General AU, show universe.

**Summary: **Myka gets arrested looking for an artifact. Castle can't help but poke is nose where it doesn't belong. Inspired by a tumblr post with screen caps from the episode of Castle where Jo played Lee Wax.

* * *

"I only help out the NYPD in my spare time. Actually, I'm a famous author."

"Yeah? So is my girlfriend."

She might have been irritated at herself for her momentary lapse in professionalism, but if Detective Beckett's earlier attitude was anything to go by…Richard Castle got under _everyone's_ skin.

It was almost too rewarding to watch the (ok, Myka could admit it to herself, even if she'd _die_ before saying it out loud) ruggedly handsome writer struggle with _that_ particular bit of information.

What _was_ it with guys and lesbians anyway?

Apparently his writer's ego won out, however, and his next question was, "That so?" he wasn't even trying to hide the joyful leer. "Anyone I'd know?"

Oh how Myka wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face.

And just at that moment - like a gift from the literary gods themselves - Myka heard a commotion outside the door and the familiar dulcet tones of Artie enraged. She'd probably never hear the end of it because her cover story _had_ been lousy, but Myka had neutralized the artifact and getting her out of the clutches of the NYPD was_nothing_compared to some of the bureaucratic nightmares she and Pete had caused for their boss in the past.

"Oops, looks like my ticket out of here just arrived," Myka smirked in return, watching the flicker of frustration mar Castle's own smug expression.

The brunette caught sight of Detective Beckett's scowl before Artie gestured impatiently at his agent through the open interrogation room door and she stood to leave, shrugging on her jacket.

"Nice," Castle, apparently not content to let it rest, tried to get in one more cheap shot. "So now you can walk away mysteriously and conveniently not have to admit you're dating a wannabe no one's ever heard of?" He said it lightly, but the words were meant to sting.

Myka just laughed.

"Oh Mr. Castle, even people who have never read her work know her name."

He stared at her and Myka had to give him credit, Castle seemed to know truth when he heard it.

And the curiosity was clearly _eating _at him.

"Ok fine. She's famous. Who is it? Nancy Drew?"

Outside the interrogation room, Artie looked like a teapot about to boil over.

In all likelihood, Myka Bering and Richard Castle would never cross paths again.

It was too good an opportunity to pass up.

"You really wanna know?" Myka smiled slowly.

Castle tried to play it cool for all of two seconds. "Yes."

Leaning down and crowding his personal space, Myka brushed her lips feather light against his cheek, knowing damn well he'd been eyeing her the entire time she'd been in custody. She let him squirm for half a second and then whispered three syllables.

Agent Bering sauntered out of the 12th's interrogation room leaving a stunned "consultant writer" in her wake. Ignoring Artie's grumping, Myka held out her hand to Kate Beckett - the detective clearly still unhappy to have someone she considered a suspect walk out of her precinct. Still, the other woman's handshake was firm.

"Don't worry detective, you'll get your suspect."

Kate's eyes narrowed briefly. Whatever the cop had been expecting, it clearly hadn't been that.

"How would you know?"

"Because you're the best," Myka said simply. She wasn't exaggerating. She'd read Beckett's file before the mission, knowing contact with the NYPD was likely and hearing that Det. Beckett had a "thing for the freaky ones."

"I'd like to return the compliment…" Beckett trailed off pointedly.

Myka just smiled a little wistfully in return. It would be nice to have more female friends, but there was classified and then there was _classified_and she couldn't risk being involved in Kate's life. Instead she settled for a simple, "Good luck detective."

And then because Myka knew what it was like to fall in love with the kind of person who thought rules were suggestions_other_people should follow, she nodded in Castle's direction. "Something tells me you'll need it."

Kate rolled her eyes but Myka caught the hint of color staining her cheeks. The Agent did the Detective the courtesy of pretending she didn't notice.

"Are we done now? Can we go?" Artie's grumble shattered the momentary camaraderie.

Now it was Kate's turn to laugh and Myka's turn to roll her eyes.

The two Warehouse agents were almost to the elevator when Myka's keen hearing caught Castle's voice raised in child-like excitement. "H.G. Wells is a _woman! _It makes _so much sense! _And those Agents, Kate you can't tell me you buy they were_just_Secret Service agents. This is the _best case __ever__!" _

The elevator door closed on Kate's sarcastic reply.

Fin.


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: **Her Name, Sighed the Wind

**Pairing: **HG/Myka implied

**Rating: **PG

**Setting: **Post Season 3 finale. Show universe, AU now.

**Summary: ** Myka deals with loss, yet again.

**A/N: **Cha made the cemetery scene in Season 2 into Myka and Ghost!Helena. The bitch. So I had to write fic for it.

* * *

It was a beautiful ceremony. Everyone said so. In a distant part of her mind, Myka knew that they were right. She'd said the words herself, shaking hands and sharing sad, strained smiles with people and agents she barely knew. Steve's mother was the hardest, the only time the numbness that had taken over her heart since Helena whispered "I smell apples" was shaken. She had reached out to shake an elegant woman's hand and found herself staring at those same, brilliant blue eyes.

For an instant - just a heartbeat - pain and grief battered at her…and then, like the fitful breeze it was gone again. Claudia was already there, tears streaming unabashedly down her cheeks as the redhead told her best friend's mom that it had been an honor to have known him.

Soon there was no one left to offer empty words too and Myka found herself wandering to the edges of the loose crowd. Pete was sticking close to Claudia, Artie and Leena were somewhere in the midst of people.

Had it really been two years since she had first traced these very steps? Two years since she watched another agent and man she had called 'friend' lowered into the ground? If Myka Bering had been able to feel anything at all anymore, she would have laughed bitterly at the parallels in her life. It wasn't even a surprise when her feet brought her to the stone bench she had sat on, contemplating another loss…only to have Helena's voice startle her out of her contemplations.

The soft breeze rustled the verdant canopy of leaves above her and tugged at her once-again-curly hair as Myka sat wearily on the polished granite. How long she sat there, she had no idea. Time didn't seem to mean much anymore, at once slipping by so that hours passed without notice or dragging on so that each second felt like an eternity. Gradually, however, Myka became aware of feeling something. For the first time since her heart, her home and her family had been ripped apart, the agent felt a stirring in her chest. So long had it been since the protective numbness of disbelief had descended it took her a long moment to realize what she felt.

It wasn't grief. It wasn't regret.

It was _anger_.

Slender hands clenched around the edge of the bench, skin stretched white over knuckles with the strain as the rage began to burn in her chest, crawling up her throat and taking her over.

In the distance Myka could see the people slowly leaving the funeral site; the family and friends and colleagues who had all come to pay their respects to Steve Jinks. He had been buried with full honors as an agent of the federal government who had died in the line of duty. Myka didn't begrudge that. Not one bit.

But Steve hadn't been the only member of the team to give their lives.

And no one would ever honor Helena.

Helena Wells, the woman history had forgotten, whose only family had been buried a century before on another continent. There would be no flag draped mahogany coffin, no noble words spoken of her genius, her sacrifice or her courage. No loved ones to talk fondly of her and share tears of remembrance.

Oh the tiny, much beaten down sliver of rationality left in Myka's heart reminded her that Claudia, Pete, Leena and Artie would probably be more than willing to hold a ceremony for the artificer…but it wasn't the same.

It was as if Fate itself wanted to correct the mistake that had been Helena's life in this century, erasing any traces of her from the earth.

So Myka sat alone, on the cold stone bench in the quiet cemetery, with only the wind for a companion as slowly the anger and loneliness gave way to simple loss and the knowledge that it was truly over: That Helena and all her brilliant, insouciant, wounded beauty was gone forever, her only lasting contribution to the future the continued beat of Myka's heart. A heart filled with pain like broken glass, cutting and bleeding until the sitting agent wished she could rip it out of her chest and throw it away.

And yet even as the first tears she had cried since the Warehouse was destroyed slipped silently and unheeded down her cheeks, Myka thought she heard a voice on the wind.

Perhaps it was just memory, perhaps she was finally slipping toward madness, but for just an instant, Myka thought she heard a familiar accent call her name, felt slender fingers trace the tracks of her tears in gentle admonition.

Blinking furiously Myka looked around, desperate, heart pounding…but there was nothing.

"I wish you were here," she whispered, voice hoarse and broken from disuse.

The wind sighed again but this time, it was empty.

Fin


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: **Vacation

**Rating: **G

**Pairing:** H.G. Wells/Myka Bering

**Disclaimers**: Not mine duh.

**Setting:** General show universe, Season 2. Could imply that Buried and Reset never happened.

**Summar**y: Myka and Helena are _forced_ to take a vacation. Fluffy.

* * *

"Vacation?"

"But _why? _We still have inventory to do!"

Artie looked as though he would quite like to hit his head against something. Instead, he just threw his hands up in the air and gestured to Pete.

_"__You_ explain to them why they have mandatory leave. And just what vacation is!" and then the short man stomped off, leaving Pete staring at the matching horrified expressions Myka and Helena were currently sporting. He gulped. Explaining the value of vacation to Myka and Myka version 2.0 was _not_ Pete's idea of a good time.

In the end, he too threw his hands up in despair. "Look, it's the rules OK? We work for the government, we have leave and we have to take it. Claudia ran outta here like the intelligent, normal human being she is. Just…do what she did. Get out of here! I'm going to take Kelly camping, I'll see you in two weeks."

And with that, he turned and fled, leaving the two disturbingly type A personalities alone in the now silent living room of the B & B.

The facade of anger and frustration lasted only until hazel eyes met mahogany. Myka broke first, doubling over and laughing until her sides hurt. Helena wasn't any better, placing a hand on the back of the couch to steady her.

"Oh dear, poor Mr. Lattimer, I have never seen anyone quite so terrified at the prospect of explaining anything to two attractive women before."

Getting herself under control, Myka shook her head. "It's not his fault, we _did_ do a pretty convincing job of acting properly distraught."

The younger woman's voice dropped, going husky over the last word and Helena's eyes sparkled in response, her expression growing wicked.

"Do you think we can leave before they figure it out?"

"I'm packed, are you?"

"Of course."

And with that, the two women dashed like freed school children up to their rooms, grabbed their respective luggage and snuck out of the B & B as fast as they could.

**3 days later…**

Myka stood on the balcony of a ridiculously expensive hotel. A place she never would have considered coming to before and even now couldn't really afford. It helped to be in love with a woman who had 100 years of interest on very smart investments to draw upon.

As Myka looked out over the ancient city to the desert beyond, her heart gave a skip of joy in her chest.

As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, a familiar, slender form pressed itself against Myka's back, elegant hands sliding along the silk of her robe and parting it to find the soft skin beneath. With a gasp, the agent leaned back into the arms that held her, rewarded with Helena's rich chuckle in her ear. An ear that teasing teeth nipped at before soft lips pressed kisses along her neck and over her shoulder.

The extraordinary sight of Cairo at night was utterly forgotten as Helena pulled Myka back into the bedroom.

It was the best vacation Myka had ever taken.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title:** A new genre

**Rating**: PG

**Disclaimer**: Not mine yada yada

**Setting**: General show, any season fluff

**Summary**: Myka and Helena in a bookstore.

* * *

"Myka, darling, _what_ _exactly_ are _these_?"

Nose buried in a new book about Egyptian history, Myka wasn't really paying attention to where she was going. So she could probably be forgiven for nearly tripping when she looked up, only to be confronted by a picture of a rippling-muscled man in a torn white shirt and flowing hair, holding an (apparently) fainting woman in a, well Myka supposed 'dress' was the closest you could come.

Behind the hideous image, Helena's eyes danced with amusement.

Myka shook her head and bit her lip. "I leave you alone in a book store for five minutes and you find the romance section. Figures," the younger woman teased.

H.G. merely arched one perfect brow. Myka tried to ignore the shiver that worked its way up her spine at the simple movement. Helena Wells was adapting ridiculously quickly to the twenty-first century, but every now and then she still had little moments of confusion.

Myka secretly found it ridiculously endearing.

"You mean to tell me that this…_genre…_is common now?" Helena asked, her rich voice equal parts amusement and disdain.

"Yes it is," Myka replied archly. "Women are allowed to like romance and sex too, these days."

Helena's brow quirked, if possible, higher. "Darling I have absolutely no problem whatsoever with women embracing their sexuality. Indeed, you should know I applaud it," and she winked wickedly at Myka who flushed and cursed herself silently. "From what I have seen here however, these" she gestured vaguely at the myriad of titles in the bookstore's romance section, "are hardly liberating books. Rather the contrary."

Myka shrugged and conceded Helena had a point. Far too much of romantic fiction, even today, was horribly sexist and reinforced ridiculous stereotypes. Before she could point out that there was - if you looked hard enough - still a lot of pretty good romance fiction, Helena sniffed and put the offending book back as if it might bite her.

The author then turned back to Myka and the look in those dark eyes made the air in Myka's lungs vanish.

"I suppose that once again I shall have to simply write what I wish to see. Some things, it would appear, never change."

And with a last sweep of her eyes over Myka's body, the author sauntered off, leaving the younger woman standing gape mouthed behind her and not at all certain of what had just happened.

In hindsight, she should have been expecting what came after that. The next time she heard Helena's voice - this time exclaiming in delight - the older woman was standing in the romance section again.

The _lesbian_ romance section.


	9. Chapter 9

**Title:** Unmentionables

**Rating**: R

**Disclaimer**: Not mine not making any money

**Setting**: General show universe, season 2.

**Summary**: Helena greatly appreciates some of the advances made in clothing in the 21st Century

**Note: **This was inspired by a bit of fanart by elfierce, who has a filthy mind. And we love her for it.

* * *

If there was one thing H.G. Wells found truly _delightful_ about the future, it was the direction in which women's undergarments had developed. Lace, silk, cotton, even _leather_and every combination in between. Oh yes, Helena had no qualms about appreciating modern clothing, particularly of the intimate variety.

It also did not surprise her that the bras and underwear Myka owned (she wasn't _snooping,_ merely gathering intelligence on her fellow agents. Really) were simple and practical - plain designs and black cotton – though the cut was certainly appealing.

And then, about two months later while chasing an artifact in the Pacific Northwest, Helena had occasion to discover Myka's taste in underthings had changed significantly.

They'd run a-foul of the possessor of the artifact they were chasing. The man did not want to give it back and _both_ Myka and Helena ended up being thrown over the side of a ferry. By the time Pete and Claudia managed to get the artifact and dragged their fellow agents back aboard, the women were in real danger of hypothermia.

Claudia bundled both Myka and HG in as many blankets as she could get her hands on and Pete turned the heater in the SUV up as high as it would go. By the time they go to their hotel room, both women were no longer shivering, but they were still soaked and thoroughly disgusted with the state of events. Nor was the situation helped by a booking issue.

There was only one room.

Pete took one look at Myka's face and offered to stay at the front desk and sort everything out with Claudia while Helena and Myka went upstairs to shower and change.

So it was that while the circumstances were _hardly_ ideal, that was the day that Helena discovered - to her infinite delight - that Myka had been shopping. The author felt no repentance whatsoever letting her eyes linger on the younger agent's slender form as Myka turned her back and tossed her sodden jeans and shirt into a pile in the corner, revealing a matching bra and panties of sheer red lace. The crimson fabric was striking against Myka's pale skin and despite her own cold clothing, Helena felt a flush stain her cheeks.

A flush that spread to Myka's face when the taller agent turned and caught Helena's gaze.

Later that night - warm, dry, and not at all disappointed the cheap hotel had only one bed, Helena expressed her appreciation for the matching green and black silk garments Myka had changed into.

Even if Myka didn't actually _wear_ them very long.


	10. Chapter 10

**Title**: Combat Training

**Rating:** PG

**Disclaimer:** Blah blah not mine no money made, you know the drill

**Setting:** General show universe, season 2

**Summary:** This was inspired by Jaime's guest on The Mentalist (1x17). Someone giffed the shot of her during the paintball game and fuckyeahpikacha said "I imagine this being part of one of Helena and Myka's gun training sessions"

* * *

Myka yelped in indignation at the impact. For small balls of paint, those suckers really _stung__._ Especially when they struck her unprotected back. Craning her neck, the agent sighed at the splotch of bright pink paint splattered across her shoulder. Turning to glare at her attacker, the ignominious nature of her 'death' was compounded by her assassin.

Helena was a more irritating winner than Pete.

The author practically danced from behind the tree, taking off her mask and raising it in a victory shout. Given that Myka had heard Pete swearing earlier, and seen Claudia sprawled in mock anguish behind a copse of trees, it would seem Helena had won this round.

Again.

"Try not to act _too_ excited about killing your fellow agents," the younger woman groused. She was not sore at losing to a woman who had been encased in bronze for a century. Really, she wasn't.

Dark eyes twinkling, Helena was practically giddy. If it hadn't been so damned endearing, Myka would have been a great deal more aggravated with her.

"Oh come now Myka, you know better than that. Besides, I think it perfectly reasonable to be proud of my skills. _Particularly_ after Arthur and Pete have spent so much time belittling them."

There was only a trace of bitterness when she spoke Artie's name but Myka still cringed inwardly. She knew how desperate Helena was to prove herself, and while Pete could be forgiven - he mocked Claudia and Myka as badly as Helena - Artie should have behaved better.

Myka's irritation at loosing - at _anything -_ faded like mist before the sun in the face of even this slight evidence of Helena's vulnerability. And really, how could she stay mad when the other woman was standing there, bouncing on her toes and grinning from ear to ear. It was so rare to see the older agent _truly_ _happy_ that Myka found herself entranced. Helena Wells was stunning at the best of times.

Face flushed with victory and not a little bravado, she was downright_ breathtaking_.

And her effect on Myka did not go unnoticed.

"Now then, I do seem to remember, before we were forced into this little training exercise, that you - my dear Agent Bering - said I could not beat you. Since it seems I _have, _I believe a forfeit is in order." Helena's voice shifted to a lower register as she - there was no other word for it - _swaggered_ up to Myka until the author was invading the younger woman's personal space.

This close, Myka could see the rich mahogany of Helena's eyes and the delicate flush of her creamy skin and for some reason the agent just couldn't tear her gaze away from those red lips now forming the most delectable, _wicked_ grin.

_Oh__ hell__…_

"A what now?" Myka tried for sarcastic, but her voice came out breathy and husky and she would have kicked herself if she wasn't too busy wondering when her heart had started to race like that.

Helena moved again and Myka took a step back…right into the solid trunk of a giant pine tree. She was caught, unable to look away from the other woman's gaze and suddenly, apparently no longer in control of her body.

"A forfeit," Helena practically whispered, the low tone sliding its way up Myka's spine like a caress. The younger agent shivered.

"And what…kind…of forfeit did you have in mind?" Myka heard the words as if they were spoken by someone else and where had all the air suddenly gone?

Helena was mere inches from her now, the helmet and paintball gun having been dropped several steps back. Myka's own gear now slipped from nerveless fingers as her body registered the proximity of Helena's slender form _so close_ to her own but frustratingly, not touching.

_Frustratingly? Where did that come from…?_ That tiny, apparently still functioning part of the agent was screaming at the top of its lungs that this was _a__bad idea__._ And then Helena spoke again and even that part of Myka's brain shut down.

"Why the traditional forfeit that any warrior asks of a beautiful lady…a kiss." And then Helena tilted her head and brushed her lips across Myka's.

In truth, it was a careful, delicate gesture. It could have been teasing and quick and merely a joke between friends, but at that feather light contact, Myka gasped, her hands reaching up to grasp at Helena's arms. The rational, calculating Agent Myka Bering existed no more. There was, for that moment, only a woman who _desired,_and acting on that desire, she pulled Helena against her.

The kiss did not _stay_ careful. Emboldened by Myka's acceptance, Helena pushed the younger woman against the tree, pressing their bodies together and teasing her tongue across Myka's lips. Lips that opened eagerly and welcomed the seeking mouth against her own. The bark was rough against her back but Myka neither noticed nor cared. Her arms wrapped around Helena's shoulders and the other woman gripped Myka's hips as they kissed. And it was a _hell_ of a kiss.

When Helena finally pulled gently away, both women were breathing heavily. Myka's knees were distinctly wobbly and it would appear she wasn't the only one so affected, for Helena was clinging to her waist as if to keep herself upright.

Eyes the color of forest and shadow met as both women struggled to find _something_to say, but neither pulled away from the other.

How long they would have stood there, hearts racing and tongues tied would never be known, however, for at that moment, the sound of tromping boots and bickering voices reached their ears, alerting them to Claudia's and Pete's approach.

By the time Pete and Claudia reached Myka and Helena, the two women were studiously checking their gear and avoiding each other's glances.

"So, Artie says we can't go home yet. I want a rematch. Same game?" Pete said, bouncing on his toes. (He'd been all in favor of paintball as a 'training exercise' from the beginning).

To his surprise, both Helena and Myka (who had been less than enthused about the idea originally) agreed quickly.

"Right then, count of 100 and losers buy dinner!" And with that, he ran in one direction and Claudia dashed off in another, though not without a last glance at the women still standing in the clearing.

"So, if we're playing again…" Myka said slyly, eyes dancing.

Helena's gaze widened and then she grinned wickedly. "Same stakes then? Or should we _up the ante,_ as they say in cards?"

"Oh, I'm sure we can think of _something,_" Myka challenged, purposefully licking her lips and raking Helena's body with her eyes. She was rewarded with a swift intake of breath by the older agent.

"Oh excellent. But fair warning Agent Bering, I play for keeps."

Myka's heart leapt, but she held Helena's gaze without flinching.

"So do I Ms. Wells. So do I."


	11. Chapter 11

**Title**: Once upon a burglary

**Pairing**: Stacie Munro/ Kelly (no idea what her last name is)

**Rating**: M

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, not making money yada yada

**Setting**: This isn't TECHNICALLY Bering and Wells. Its actually Jaime Murray's character from Hustle and Joanne's from some show I have no idea, but she played a thief and wore a black spandex catsuit. Inspired by one of FuckYeahPikacha's gif sets.

* * *

It was, at first anyway, _highly_ embarrassing. I mean really, running into someone _else_ trying to steal the same statue? It was the thief's equivalent of wearing the same couture gown to the red carpet.

If they were men they would have probably gotten into some ridiculous physical fight over it.

But they weren't men. They were women: intelligent, professional, women… who just happened to be thieves.

Lying on the hard, polished wood floor there was a quick, tense, hushed conversation and then they both agreed after a moment that Stacie's claim was the better and in return, she'd help Kelly nab a particularly valuable painting from a private collection in Paris (It really had been too long since Stacie had been to Paris anyway).

It was all very simple and tidy and _professional_ and neither one commented on how fetching the other looked in their nearly matching cat suits or just low lovely the soft swell of breast above the necklines looked in the red laser light.

All that would come _later._

Later when Stacie found Kelly in the corner table of her favorite pub (the one _not_ owned by Eddie). Later when they'd shared a drink and started chatting about the jobs they'd done but really just ended up staring at each other with increasing hunger as the night wore on.

Later as Stacie shoved Kelly back against the wall of her flat, slamming the door behind them as she slipped her hands inside the other woman's trench coat and almost purred when her fingers slid along silky material that was warm from body heat and clearly transmitted the flex and quiver of finely honed muscle.

Later as they tangled together in a contest of slender limbs and dark hair and slick heated flesh that neither could lose.

Later when they lay, Stacie's arms gently holding Kelly to her side as they reveled in the ache of muscles that perhaps weren't _quite_ as _flexible_ as they'd thought.

fin


	12. Chapter 12

**Title:** A Bit of Romance

**Pairing**: Myka/Helena

**Rating**: G

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, not making any money, blah blah, woof woof. (Points if anyone gets this reference)

**Setting:** General show universe, probably season 2

**Summary:** Myka's thoughts on Helena, and her attitude toward romance. More character study than anything.

* * *

Myka Bering had never thought of herself as much of a romantic. That was her sister's court to hold sway in. Flirting and dating, talking on the phone for hours, doing all the silly little things "normal" couples did in the throes of early romance…Myka simply never felt she had _time_ for them. Of course it had never helped that her entire life she was driven by her father and her own internal need to be _better:_a better student, a better fighter, a better Agent. Romance was for fools and idealists and people who knew less about the darkness that could live inside the human heart.

Even with Sam, though he was certainly kind and sweet enough, their relationship never leant itself to more than stolen moments. Moments usually filled with hastily shed clothing and fevered love making. Their days were spent pretending they _hadn't_ _just_ spent the night together and honing the single minded focus needed to climb the ranks of the Secret Service.

Some girls went to prom and took moonlit walks on beaches.

Some had near perfect sharpshooting scores.

For the most part, Myka Bering believed that being a better shot was more _valuable_than having such adolescent memories.

The Warehouse changed some of that. Slowly, Myka began to realize you could be the pretty girl _and_ the girl who could kick a Marine's ass with his own sword. She began to realize that sharp shooting scores and a love of books could, in fact, co-exist with a desire to just be _held__ close to someone you cared about._

Still, being a Warehouse Agent left little time, and even less space, for romantic attachments.

And then H.G. Wells came into her life.

_Helena_ with her Victorian sensibilities and ageless sense of self-confidence, her insatiably curious mind and unapologetic appreciation of beauty; be it of words, of worlds of her own making, or of women. Helena who seemed to have decided that Myka was worth _courting._

For that was the only word the younger agent could think of to describe the weighted looks, fleeting touches, and the small, unspoken gestures that she found herself the recipient of on an increasingly regular basis.

That such small things came easily to the author Myka did not find surprising. How much the agent found she reveled in them, however, was a bit of shock.

And a delight.

It didn't matter if it was something as simple as Helena holding her coat for her, or as beautiful as the single rose bud – hand stripped of all thorns – she found in a cut crystal vase in her room every day, Myka savored them all. Never had she allowed herself the luxury of enjoying such frivolous things, and yet Helena's quiet grace with each touch or look or gift made accepting them so very easy and it never failed to bring a warmth to Myka's heart and smile to her lips.

As Myka brought the latest rosebud (white, this time) to her face and breathed in its delicate scent, she silently admitted that perhaps there was nothing foolish about being a romantic after all.

fin


	13. Chapter 13

**Title**: To Hope

**Pairing**: Myka/Helena

**Disclaimer**: Not mine yada yada

**Rating**: G

**Setting/Summary**: General show universe, post season 3 finale, BUT, fuckyeahpikacha is evil. She made a gifset of Stacie from Hustle and then said "it's not weird if I imagine this like a backwards AU where HG is the one that survived and that the portal took the other three elsewhere so she thinks they're dead…"

* * *

Some days the memories were so strong Helena truly expected to wake up and roll over and feel a familiar form laid out alongside her, or come down the stairs, or walk into the kitchen and see tousled espresso hair and love dancing in green eyes.

She never did.

It hurt _every single time_.

Those that said Time healed all wounds were _fools_. Time healed _nothing_. Each moment, each swift, instinctual flare of hope or misguided instant of belief that she would just turn around and Myka would be _there_ again - whole and safe and smiling that soft smile she reserved only for Helena - was like another blow; another blade cutting the wound in her soul ever deeper. There were moments the author truly wondered if it wouldn't just be less painful to tear her own heart from her chest and be done with it. If that end wouldn't be better than the emptiness of an existence accompanied only by the knowledge that she had failed, _again,_ to protect the ones she loved.

She had no idea why the barrier had reacted the way it did. It should have kept Myka, Pete and Arthur safe, not vanished them to God only knew what plane of existence. It should have been _her_ to depart this mortal existence. Instead she was left with only the ash covered memory of Myka's final, gentle smile and the aching, burning frustration of not even being able to know _why__._ With the destruction of the Warehouse, there was nothing left for her to investigate.

There was only regret and grief and the desperate struggle to keep from hoping, lest it finally cut too deep and leave her bleeding out, alone.

She had almost succeeded in that battle. Life had become merely an endless grey ribbon of existence that pulled her through each day. And then one morning, that damnable sense of hope flared again. The sense that Myka was close was so strong that Helena's knees shook as she walked down the stairs. It made her angry; at her weakness, at her fate, at anything and everything. Anger she was so lost in that it took her several seconds to realize that she was not alone.

There was someone standing in her kitchen with their back to her.

Someone with long, rich brown hair and a slim figure.

Someone who, when she turned around, smiled with that familiar soft smile, emotion sparkling in her green eyes.

"Myka?" Helena breathed, still struggling not to hope.

"I'm sorry I'm so late."

Fin


	14. Chapter 15

**Title**: Who You Are  
**Rating:** G

**Pairing:** Bering and Wells

**Disclaimer**: I don't own them. If I did, Warehouse 13 would be called Bering and Wells. And obviously I'm not making any money, or I wouldn't still be in grad school.

**Summary:** General show universe, set sometime in the future. Someone requested on tumblr "Bering and Wells growing old together and being happy"

* * *

"_Sometimes, you have to step outside of the person you've been and remember the person you were meant to be. The person you want to be. The person you are."_ – H.G. Wells

When most people looked back on their past and thought of events as being a lifetime ago it was mere metaphor, or at least exaggeration. As Helena traced the faded print on the familiar page, however, her lips quirked in gentle humor at the truth of the expression. A lifetime. Two lifetimes. A dozen. Even if the span of her years on this earth hadn't been augmented by her Bronze prison she felt it safe to say she had **lived** far more than most on this earth.

And though she had written the words beneath her fingertips several lifetimes ago, there were days when she felt as if she was only now truly grasping their meaning.

It had taken years, decades, more than one century but H.G. Wells had found the person she wanted to be. She had become that person.

That person who loved.

That person who _**was **_loved.

"Reliving your former genius?" came the gentle quip from a voice as familiar as her own, but far more beautiful (or at least she thought so).

Turning around, the woman who had been author, mother, lover, agent, betrayer, hero, wife and mother again turned to look at the approaching figure.

Still unbowed by time with straight shoulders and a sharp, glittering gaze, Myka Bering yet wore the passing years easily. Her hair was pure silver and she had cut it short long ago and the tell-tale creases at the corners of her mouth and eyes never went away now, but she was still the most beautiful thing Helena had ever set her sight upon.

"Just musing on the passage of time, my love."

"Hmm, that better not be code for 'I've gone and forgotten our anniversary is tomorrow'," Myka teased gently, leaning in and brushing her lips across Helena's cheek. "It's not every day a couple can say they've been together for 40 years."

"No," Helena smiled. "I would never forget. As you say, quite an accomplishment. And we've even managed to save the world a time or two."

"Not too shabby if I do say so myself," Myka replied, green eyes dancing. Threading her arm through Helena's Myka handed her wife her silver-headed cane and pulled her gently up from the chair. "Come on, let's go make sure Pete hasn't eaten all the cake yet."

Taking the ebony cane (that she used mostly for appearances…and the fact that there was a sword inside it) Helena lifted one eyebrow. "I thought the party was tomorrow."

"Yeah like that's ever stopped Pete before."

"Ah. Right then. Lead on my love."

The two women strolled through the B & B to where the rest of their family awaited them in the kitchen, the small, worn book forgotten on the coffee table.

Neither Helena nor Myka had any need to step outside themselves any longer. They had been exactly who they wanted to be for a very long time.

Fin.


	15. Chapter 16

_**Title:**__ The Game_

_**Pairing**__: Bering and Wells_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Not mine, not making money yada yada_

_**Summary:**__ Just a little character study looking at the sharper side of Helena and Myka's relationship_

_**Warnings**__: Mild D/s _

_**Setting: **__ General show canon_

* * *

_**It is a game…**_

But they don clothes that are less a costume and more a reflection of something deep within; leather and lace and silk that doesn't hide but reveals the ache that is buried beneath the routine of each day until it can no longer be concealed.

_**They are just playing**_**… **

But it's as real as the sting of Helena's scalp when Myka fists her fingers in that mane of ink black hair, pulling the kneeling woman's head back until the sweeping line of her throat is bared, the flickering pulse point a subtle, tempting beacon.

_**It is only pretend**_**…**

But there is nothing feigned in the way Helena cries with joy at surrendering her body to Myka's demands, nerves thrilling as tender, leather-clad hands take possession of her heart with infinite gentleness even as they leave stark red lines on the pale cream expanse of her back; a benediction written in a private language of pain and pleasure.

_**There are rules…**_

Iron clad, though they don't truly need them anymore. They haven't for a very long time. There is no part of Helena that doesn't belong to Myka. And they both know with complete surety, that even as Helena is stretched taut, slender and delicate and quivering with desire, that a single word, the merest breath from reddened lips will release her bonds, driving Myka to her knees in apology and supplication. For that is the first rule: the captor has only the power the captive is willing to give.

_**They are just roles…**_

That fit like the custom-made leather of Myka's gloves; soft and supple and warm. Not merely adornment but protection and they slip into them when the world is strange and cold and harsh.

For when Helena kneels and presents herself there is no pretense. When Myka strides to her and kisses her brutally there are no lies. When Helena cries out at Myka's encouragement there is no censure or shame or need to be anyone, or any**thing** else in that moment but herself. Stripped of the past, unheeding of the future, there is only the two of them and the game, the dance, the trust and the love between them.

fin


	16. Chapter 17

**Title:** A Hell of a Visit

**Pairing**: Bering and Wells, AU

**Rating**: PG-13, mild violence.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, not making any money (though seriously, I'd treat these characters better than the writers do. Just saying)  
**Setting:** Standalone AU. Inspired by a gifset made by Helenastacie where Helena is a demon and Myka a vampire.

**Summary**: No one ever believes Myka when she tells them her ex is from Hell…

* * *

Myka fired at the retreating attackers until the metal casing of the gun burned in her hand and she was out of ammo. It was overkill but she didn't care. _**No one **_messed with her Coven.

"Amateurs" The Vampire snarled, looking around at the now-quiet street.

She was just starting to relax when a movement in the shadows startled her.

Out of reflex Myka raised the uzi, even though it was useless now.

She stilled as the shadows seemed to part, then re-form again.

Re-formed… into the figure of a stunning woman. Dressed in a red leather jacket and a shirt cut low enough to expose the swell of her breasts, her cheekbones could cut glass and her smile was pure sin.

But her eyes…

It took a lot to make a Vampire shiver. Myka shivered.

The being's eyes were as black and fathomless as the deepest pit of the Underworld.

Which – coincidentally - was exactly where this particular demon had come from.

People never believed Myka Bering when she said her Ex was from Hell.

"Hello my darling, it's good to see you again," that honeyed voice hadn't changed at all. It still stroked velvet covered fingers down Myka's spine and sent her pulse to racing. Myka sighed. Two hundred years. She still wasn't over this woman…demon. Whatever.

"Hello Helena. Do I even want to know why they let you out of Hell this time?"

"Probably not," The demon grinned wickedly.

"Let me guess. Chaos, destruction, war?"

Helena smiled like a proud teacher and stepped even closer. Myka didn't move to stop her. "Sounds about right my love."

"Hmm well, things have been getting a little quiet around here lately," the Vampire admitted.

Helena quirked one perfectly sculpted brow at the machine gun still in Myka's hand.

The brunette followed her gaze to the weapon, then tossed it carelessly aside. "Just local politics," she said airily in explanation. And then Myka gave in to the desire that never failed to rise in her when confronted by Hell's most beautiful and deadly assassin. Reaching out, Myka wrapped her fingers in Helena's silken black hair, pulled the demon to her roughly and kissed her, deeply.

Helena's arms came around Myka's waist and she opened her mouth, eagerly accepting Myka's tongue as the kiss turned hot and possessive.

It was only when Myka remembered she still needed to draw breath that the Vampire pulled back, nearly trembling. She did not, however, let go of Helena, nor the demon of her.

"Right," Myka said with a dark laugh. "Let's go break things shall we?"

"Yes darling, let us."

fin


	17. Chapter 18

_**Title**__: Not Like This  
__**Pairing:**__ Bering and Wells_

_**Rating:**__ R_

_**Disclaimer**__: Not mine, not making any money. _

_**Setting:**__ General show canon_

_**Summary:**__ Angst warning, character death. Inspired by another of Helenastacie's gifsets on tumblr, this one used footage from Jaime's character's death at Dexter's hand._

* * *

_**Not like this. Not like this. Not like this**__**.**_ It was a refrain in Myka's head, screamed over and over and over until it drowned everything else out. They were supposed to have grown old together; solved puzzles and saved the day together. In her nightmares, perhaps, Myka had seen loss - imagined Helena being ripped away - but it was always because of an Artifact. H.G. Wells might have been mortal, but Myka had never been able to imagine - even in her darkest hour - the woman she loved dying anything less than a hero.

_**Not like this**_**. **

Not murdered quietly, senselessly, alone and drugged so that Helena was not even able to fight back. For in the end, despite all her strength and genius, for all that Helena had once sought to challenge Time itself…all it took was a single knife thrust correctly positioned between her ribs for her fragile physical body to betray the soul inside.

_**Not like this**_.

Dark eyes once so full of intelligence and mischief stared at distances unseen, never again to warm at Myka's approach.

Myka, hands shaking, placed the jacket over Helena's face, hiding the tragedy of death under a makeshift shroud.

_**Not like this.**_

And as she did, as the ugly fabric eclipsed a face more familiar to her than Myka's own, into the dark emptiness of her chest carved by the shards of despair came rage. It roared up from somewhere beneath her, filling Myka's chest with fire. With hate.

Deliberately she wiped her eyes. Her spine stiffened, shoulders unbending from their weight of grief. Hands that suddenly found their strength closed around the cold hard grip of her Sig.

Myka understood then in that moment what had driven Helena in the wake of Christina's death. She understood how one person could wish an entire world destroyed. If there had been any room left in the Agent's heart she might have cried all over again at he pain Helena had endured. But Myka's eyes were dry and burning now. There would be no more tears.

The sound of her holster unsnapping was loud in the wrecked room. The familiar slide of metal against leather oddly comforting. The gun fit in her hand as if made just for her, no longer merely a weapon but a tool to even the scales and set things right once more.

Helena's murderer would die if Myka had to watch the world burn to do it.

As she walked away from the empty shell on the ground, the words echoed in her head.

_**Not like this**_.

fin.


	18. Chapter 19

**Title**: Warm  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary**: Fluff, Myka wakes up, glad to be warm again, and very glad not to be alone.  
**Notes/Setting**: Show 'verse, set post-season 4.5 finale (slight AU), based off a manip by fuckyeahpikacha, assumes Myka recovers from her cancer because I wanted to write something fluffy before we are all killed by the season finale.

* * *

She still tired easily, though it was getting better. Slowly. Far too slowly.

Her body had been returned to her, but it was hard to remember that sometimes when she woke shaking in the middle of the night, feeling nausea that was a memory or muscle weakness that wasn't. Hard to remind herself that she wasn't dying anymore (or at least that's what the doctors promised) when there was still bruising under her eyes and her cheekbones stood out too starkly.

But it **was** getting better. Easier.

Especially now that Helena was home…

* * *

**Warmth**: such a simple state that so many took for granted, but Myka had felt its absence for so long that not being cold still felt like a gift. And she was warm now. Blinking the sleep from her eyes she saw the bedroom bathed in the deepening gold light of late afternoon. The body that cradled her own was slender and familiar and so very alive; the soft, ceaseless stroking of delicate fingers across her temple was soothing. The blankets had been messily re-arranged to cover her, leaving Helena's lean legs bare. Myka felt a soft smile edge her lips. One could hardly complain about the view.

Shifting slightly, languorous and relaxed, she reveled in the warmth; of Helena's body, of the soft thick blankets, of the light. For just a moment she could almost believe the last few months were simply a horrible nightmare and now, at long last, she was awake.

Eyes like polished mahogany met her gaze when she turned to look at the woman holding her. A shadow of weariness lingered on Helena's face too, but Myka knew it came from a different source; from waiting and hoping and the agony of watching someone you care about suffer while you must stand by, helpless. Reaching up Myka tangled her fingers with those against her cheek.

"Did you sleep at all?" the younger woman asked, her voice low and rough from disuse.

Helena merely shook her head, a tender smile lifting the corner of her mouth.

Soon Myka would be able to chastise her. Someday not too long from now she would be able to roll her eyes and get up, tugging Helena to her and kissing the raven-haired woman thoroughly. She would have the strength to push Helena back onto the bed and lean over her, caressing her with tender fingers and whispering teasing promises of wearing the other woman.

But that day remained in the future and Myka understood all too well the fear that drove Helena: the subtle, irrational terror that if she slept, if she closed her eyes for just a moment, something would happen and Myka would leave her. So for now the taller woman said nothing, merely bringing Helena's fingers to her lips and kissing the hand that had refused to let go all through her treatments, that had anchored her through the pain and weakness and the anger of being trapped in a body that no longer felt like her own. The hand that held her still.

"Sleep, love," Helena said. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," Myka replied, equally softly. And she did know, with complete and unshakable certainty. It might have been the only grace to come from her battle with cancer but Myka was past questioning whatever happiness Fate seemed willing to grant her. She would live, and Helena was with her, and that knowledge warmed a place deep in her heart that no mere pile of blankets could thaw.

Burrowing back down in the covers, Myka drew Helena's other hand around her waist and linked their fingers before closing her eyes and letting herself drift off into the warm darkness of sleep once more.


End file.
